Tuesday, January 31, 2012

Do you ever read blogs from people you don't know, but the more you read them, the more convinced you become that you are destined to be buddies with the author? Now, see, for the normal part of the population, I would guess most of you would say, "why no! It never even occurs to me! I just like reading it because (insert sane rationale for reading details about stranger's lives they post on-line - here)."

But this is where the crazy stalker in me takes over and thinks everything I read, from this one blog in particular, is exactly like ME!! We are kindred spirits!!!! She writes like I would if I actually blogged!! So to list the reasons why I think we were separated at birth: she is the same age as me (not the same birthday per se, but she is in her early 30's - so that means a TON, right?!), has 4 kids (ok, we are no longer twinsies in that department, but for a while we were), home schools (ok, not that one anymore either), home birthed her kids, (I just had one at home, but still - same, right?), she struggles keeping her house in order AND she is Mormon! Can you say same/same?!

So I know that it's crazy, and I know that we are not the same so much after all, but I still feel like we would seriously be friends if we happened to live in the same country/state/ward. And I have been tempted to write her a letter telling her as much. (But then, I also think that Sarah Palin and I, while we vastly differ on political ideas, would also be besties after watching her TLC show. Well, maybe not besties; she did actually shoot live animals, but for the sake of our friendship, I would be willing to overlook it because she is so much dang fun... ) But then I realized that put in the same level as that crazy guy in the cheesy 90's movie"The Bodyguard". But it is So. Hard. To. Resist.

So today, instead of telling her why I think we should be BFF's, I am telling all of you. Why tell one, when instead you can admit to everyone who reads your blog (granted that's probably only three people) that I am absolutely Coo-coo for cocoa puffs Nuts.

Friday, January 6, 2012

I always have a love/hate relationship with my kids names. When I am pregnant I agonize over their name. When they are born, it is still nearly impossible for me to commit. They say you can't leave the hospital until the baby is named, but I (unfortunately) know otherwise. The problem is, once you leave the hospital, there is no sense of urgency. This week or next... what does it matter? Ezra wasn't officially named until for 6 weeks. When I finally (reluctantly) "decide", I proceed to be wishy-washy about it for the following year. I question it often, wondering when it becomes too late to change it. Thankfully after about the one year mark I finally make peace with the name and come to genuinely love it and feel that it is a perfect name for them.

Naming kids is not something I enjoy - and I have even been known to say, "I would rather go through labour than name a child" to many people. WHAT?!? I know. Crazy. But there are so many factors to consider: like their initials, how it sounds, what it means, how it goes with the other kids names, potential emotional damaging nicknames, fun nicknames, which name is first and middle, and do I really want to use the name that I LOVE as a middle name? Isn't that just wasting it? It causes me a great deal of stress. Thankfully I am married to a man that has only adamantly contributed one name to our progeny and that I haven't loved and it was for Oliver's middle name, Euan. (On that note, Euan??!?? Paul shares the same birthday and year as Ewan McGregor and consequently (secretly) feels connected and thus named our 2nd born's middle name after him. (Paul will just as adamantly deny this). I happen to share death day with Elvis Presley (he died the same day and year I was born) and I have yet to insist we name one of our kids Elvis. But I wanted to have Oliver's middle name to be after our real estate agent, Mac, but Paul refused me on that ground alone. But really - Oliver Mac Russell... seriously - coolest. name. ever. As it is, I love Paul, and so Oliver's middle name is Euan. I have told Paul that if he ever dies, I am changing it on the way home from the funeral.)

When it came time for Eloise to be born I really was torn between Margaret and Eloise. I loved both names so much! I loved Margaret Eloise Russell. But Eloise Margaret Russell sounded really lovely too. In the end, Eloise won out because it was a little less common, and I loved how Charlotte and Eloise fit together. So it was decided. Ish.

The problem I am finding out is that everything rhymes with Eloise-e. Not at first glance, mind you, but we somehow make it work. Like when she has a cold, we call her Ela-sneezy. When she has raspy breathing, Ela-wheezy. When she has a poopy bum, it's Smelloise. Easy-Breezy-Eloise-e has become one we use most often, and that has evolved to "Breezers". (Breezers?? That is right up there as bad as Ezra's nickname which is Snoogs.) But today, as she was hanging out with her cousin Axsel, slapping his newly buzzed, spiky head and using her mighty 23 pound girth to push the standup toy that he was hanging onto for dear life around the kitchen and in a panic with every inch she moved it, the nickname has evolved once again from "Breezers" to "Bruiser." It really doesn't help that "Eloise" means hale and hearty. No joke.